From Interstate 691, while enroute from home in Gettysburg to a nearly year-old great-niece I had not yet hugged, I spied poking out of the trees near the top of a granite mountain at the outskirts of Meriden, Conn., a structure with the appearance of a super-sized rook from a giant chess set.
“What the heck is a castle doing out here,” I wondered aloud to my travel partner.